Page 8 of Cider Kissed By the Mountain Man
“Abby…” I warned, though I didn’t know what I was warning her against—me, this, us.
But she didn’t move away.
Her breath was warm against my lips, sweet and tart, like cider and secrets. And then she tilted her chin just slightly, inviting—no, daring—me to close the distance.
So I did.
I took her mouth with the kind of hunger I’d kept buried for years—fast, deep, a little reckless. Her gasp slipped against my tongue as I licked into her mouth—slow at first, then deeper, rougher, dragging across the roof of her mouth like I needed to brand her from the inside out.
She tasted like everything I shouldn’t want—apples and fall wind and the kind of softness that stuck to your skin.
Her hands were on my shoulders, her fingers digging into my skin like she couldn’t get close enough. And when I growled—growled, like a man undone—she opened for me even more, her tongue sliding against mine in a rhythm that felt too good, too perfect, too damn right.
I’d meant to kiss her once. Just once. A single taste to shut down the need clawing at my insides. But I couldn’t stop. One hand fisted the back of her shirt, the other wrapped tight around her waist as I devoured her like a starving man. Her body molded to mine like she belonged there, like she’d always been meant to be there.
And me?
I forgot my name. Forgot my orchard. Forgot my rules.
There was only her. Her mouth. Her taste. The wild thump of her pulse. And the terrifying, addictive truth that I didn’t want to let her go.
Then I heard the voices. The laughter.
Damn it, a tour was coming through. I broke off the kiss, her whimper of protest going straight to my groin. “There’s someone coming.”
Her lips were still on mine. Not literally, but imprinted, burned into every nerve ending. And it was all I could do not to drag her back into that kiss. But the moment shattered, and I let it.
Like a coward.
“I, um, I can walk back to my car.” She stood there looking as dazed as I felt.
“No.” The word came from somewhere deep and primitive, somewhere that couldn’t stand the thought of her walking alone across uneven ground. I gathered up my tools, trying to get my body back under control. “Get in the truck.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re cold and covered in mud. Get in the damn truck, Abby.”
Her name slipped out before I could stop it, and I saw her eyes widen slightly at the sound of it. I’d been calling her Ms. Foster all day, keeping that formal distance between us. Butstanding there in the flooded grove, watching her try to be brave about walking back alone… all my defenses felt paper-thin.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”
The first thing I did was grab a shirt from the back of the truck. I pulled it on like a coat of armor. It didn’t help much, but it was something. We drove back to the main shed in silence, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. When I pulled up next to her car, she didn’t immediately get out. The orchard was quieter here, the wind rustling through half-bare trees, leaves crunching under the truck’s tires.
“Trent.” Just hearing my name from her lips wrecked me. Soft. Honest. No sarcasm to hide behind. I wanted to kiss her again. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing an incredible job keeping this place running.”
The sincerity in her voice hit me like a sucker punch. I gripped the steering wheel tighter and stared straight ahead.
“I, um, won’t be able to come tomorrow until after school, is that okay?”
I should have said no. Should have told her I could handle the rest of the preparations myself and saved us both the trouble.
“Yeah,” I heard myself say. “The apples can’t tell time.”
That brought another smile to her face, but she didn’t say another word, just got out of the truck and walked to her car. I should’ve been relieved. I needed her gone. Out of the orchard. Out of the mud. Out of my head.
I watched her drive away and tried to convince myself I was relieved.
I realized I was getting really good at lying to myself.
